


Phase Change

by dracusfyre



Series: Phase Change [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Tony Stark, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Tony Stark, Rimming, Steve Rogers is not a good bro, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracusfyre/pseuds/dracusfyre
Summary: The man who used to be both Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier but now is neither has to figure out who he is and what he wants, with a little prodding from Tony along the way.Based off a couple of prompts:  one fromImagineTonyandBucky"I love Tony x Winter Soldier, so pretty please, can one of you write something with Bucky in WS mode? Idk, maybe WS who doesn't understand concept of feelings, but he's aware that he has them and he doesn't know what to do with them, so he decides to ask Tony, who is not only genius but also the object of those feelings, so he's perfect person to ask in Soldiers reasoning...andBased around the Winter Soldier and his reactions/thoughts etc. And it is the asset. Barnes did die. Hydra killed him and all that's left are spotty memories of a man that's not him, and the monster Hydra created. Hydra falls. And then somewhere along the way, he falls in love.





	1. Chapter 1

The soldier aka James Buchanan Barnes code name ‘Bucky’ distinctly remembers the first time he saw Anthony Edward Stark also known as _Tony_ code name ‘Iron Man.’ He had been stepping off the jet that had been used to transport him to the Avengers Compound, where he was being remanded to the custody of the Avengers until, as one SHIELD officer put it when he didn’t realize the soldier was listening, “the government figures out what to do with him.”  Anthony Edward Stark was standing on the landing pad, flanked by people, some of whom the soldier recognized, some he didn’t, but all of which were watching him with varying degrees of wariness.  At the feeling of all of those eyes on him the soldier slowed, heart pounding as adrenaline flooded him.  He gritted his teeth and flexed his hands, trying to choke down the urge to lash out, to fight back, to run, and the effort made his steps grind to a halt halfway across the landing pad.

Anthony Edward Stark was the one who took two steps forward when everyone tensed, who pushed his sunglasses down his nose so he could look the soldier in the eye.  He raised his chin, jaw tight, as Stark studied him, and then watched in surprise as wariness turned to understanding. Stark gave him a short nod and then the sunglasses were back in place as he turned away towards the others.  “You guys, I think the welcoming party isn’t helping.  Let’s give him some space, yeah?” And just like that the landing pad cleared until it was just the soldier and Steven Grant Rogers code name Captain America.

He heard Steven Grant Rogers let out a long exhale in relief.  “Come on, Bucky.  You’re going to be bunking next to me for now,” he said over his shoulder as he started to walk towards the tower.  The soldier hesitated a split second before he remembered _code name Bucky_ and followed.

 

The soldier spent the next few weeks pacing around the compound, feeling trapped.  His living quarters were the worst because that’s where Steven Grant Rogers “Please, Buck, call me Steve” was, where he always seemed to be watching the soldier with alternating hope and despair. Both made the asset equally uneasy; he felt like he was failing at a mission he’d never been briefed on.

So he paced.  On one of the early days he found the range but not an armory, which was probably wise.  Sometimes he wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t fight his way out if he had a weapon, even though he knew he’d agreed to come here and agreed to stay.  He found multiple kitchens and gyms, shied away from the offices and other peoples’ living quarters, and ran the tree line that served as the edge of the property so many times that he’d memorized it. 

He realized, after a while, that he was bored.

Then he realized he'd been under surveillance the whole time when he saw Anthony Edward Stark jogging across a grassy expanse to intercept him on one of his runs.

“Hey Murderbot,” Stark said, and the soldier had stiffened, worried that he’d broken some unknown rule by going outside. “Follow me. You need a hobby, it’s driving me crazy watching you pace around this place like a caged tiger.”  He gestured and started walking back towards the compound. After a moment, the soldier followed.

Stark took him back to the range, but this time he went to a panel on the far wall; when he put his palm on it, part of the wall slid to the side to reveal the armory.  “I understand that this is your thing,” Stark said, waving his hand towards the mouthwatering array of pistols, rifles, throwing knives, and assorted other weapons that were on display.  “Have fun.  Just as a note, the guns will self-destruct if taken out of this room.” Stark glanced at him, gaze more measuring than suspicious.  “Steve thinks this is a bad idea.  Please don’t prove him right.”

The soldier gave him a nod, already reaching for a rifle.

 

That night, for the first time since he’d arrived at the compound, the soldier slept through the night.  The next morning, as he was trying to find something to eat, he was drawn to one of the kitchens by the smell of food and coffee and found Stark there.

“Morning, sunshine,” Stark said without looking up from his phone. “Did you have a good time yesterday?” The soldier grunted assent while he assembled himself a plate of food.  “Great,” Stark continued, apparently satisfied with that answer.  “Well, you’ve been here forty-two days now, I feel like I’ve been patient enough.  Would you mind joining me in my lab so I can take a look at your fancy metal arm?”

The soldier stood near the entrance to the kitchen as he ate, chewing thoughtfully as he considered.  “Sure,” he said finally, having decided that keeping Stark’s mysterious goodwill outweighed the deep unease he felt at the idea.

At that, Stark finally looked up at him. “So he does talk,” Stark said with a crooked smile.  “It doesn’t have to be today.  Take your time, warm up to the idea, and let me know when you’re ready.” He stood and put his phone in his pocket and the crumb-filled plate in the sink.  He filled up his cup with more coffee and on his way out of the kitchen he said over his shoulder, “Oh, and same rules as yesterday.  Steve thinks this is _also_ a bad idea, so when you do come, please don’t prove him right by trying to kill me or destroy my lab.”

The soldier scowled, starting to get the feeling that Steven Grant Rogers’ _opinions_ were one of the reasons why he’d been so bored lately.  He raised his chin. “Now,” he growled, half-expecting Stark to argue with him, but he only shrugged.

“If you say so. Follow me.”

Stark led him to a set of steel reinforced double doors that the soldier had passed a number of times but had never been able to access.  As Stark walked up, the doors opened on their own and the room inside was huge, a bland institutional gray filled on one side with machines and desks and toolboxes and on the other with a variety of fast-looking vehicles.

The soldier liked it immediately. 

“This is my lab, my _sanctum sanctorum,_ my home away from home, so don’t touch anything.  Except this chair,” Stark said, pushing a wheeled stool towards him. “Please sit on the chair.”

The soldier sat.  “I’m not Hydra’s attack dog anymore,” he said gruffly, and Stark’s eyebrows went up.  “I’m not going to hurt you or destroy anything.”

“I think so, too,” Stark said after a moment as he cleared a space on a work table. “But I think Steve…well, let’s say he would prefer to be safe than sorry.”  He patted the table for the soldier to place his arm on it and dragged up a chair for himself. “So tell me about this thing.”

The soldier let go of his aggravation at Steven Grant Rogers and began rattling off specifications from memory, recalling all the times the technicians had discussed his arm in his presence as if he were just another piece of machinery.  He directed Stark to the access panels and then conversation gradually trailed off as Stark became engrossed in investigating his arm.

 After approximately an hour, Stark leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “JARVIS got enough scans of this that I can go ahead and finish up here so I don’t take more of your time. I think the perimeter guards are probably wondering why you are late for your morning marathon.”  The soldier scowled at that.  Boredom had apparently made him predictable. “Hey, so I’m sorry if this is a rude question, but what should I call you?” Stark asked as he started refastening the access panels on the arm.

He hesitated. “Bucky?”

Stark’s forehead creased at his answer.  “I get the feeling,” he said carefully, still looking down at what he was working on, “that you don’t actually like that name.”

The soldier felt a split second of surprise before he schooled his emotions.  How had Stark noticed what others had not?  He _didn’t_ like being called "Bucky."  Bucky was a ghost, less a memory than an abstract fact the soldier would rather forget. There was another long pause while he thought.  “Soldier?” he ventured.  He saw a tic in Tony’s jaw that meant he didn’t like that answer either.

But Stark didn’t say anything until he was finished with the arm, setting his tools down on his work table before he sat up to face the soldier. The soldier relaxed when he saw that Stark’s expression wasn't angry or disappointed.  “Come on, ‘soldier’ isn’t a name," Stark said with a faint smile.  "It’s barely a title.”

The soldier pondered that. “Soldat?” he said after a few moments.

Stark snorted. “I know soldat is just Russian for soldier.  Look, if you don’t like Bucky or James or any of the names you were born with, I can give you a new one.  Just ask Captain Hotpants or Point Break.” The solder felt the corner of his lips turn up at _Captain Hotpants_ and saw Stark’s answering smile.  “But I think it’s important that _you_ decide on a name you like.”

He pondered that.  He’d gone by a lot of names in his life, some for longer than others.  “Yasha,” he said, as he stood to leave.  “Call me Yasha.”

“Alright.  Let me know if you have any problems with the arm, and maybe take it easy with the exercising.  Don’t you read or watch movies or do anything that involves…sitting?”

The thought of sitting for any length of time made Yasha’s skin crawl. Except…he’d just sat here for over an hour and didn’t feel like punching his way out of the room and then the compound.  He narrowed his eyes at Stark, who already seemed to have forgotten him as he pushed himself across the floor on his wheeled stool to a computer on another table. He grunted, more to himself than in response to Tony’s question, and went to the armory instead of for his usual run.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Rogers,” Tony said, bounding up the stairs to the common kitchen where Steve was staring into a bowl of cereal. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, straightening. “We were out of milk, so I figured you’d have some down here.”

“Right.” Tony raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment as he got a bowl down for himself.  “So everything’s going well with the Manchurian Candidate?”

“Sure,” Steve said after a moment, making a face _._ “Bucky’s fine.”

“Uh huh.”  Tony filled his bowl and dug out a spoon from the drawer.  He thought about saying something to Steve about calling him Yasha instead of Bucky, but that was really for Yasha to do himself.  At this point, Tony figured the whole "Bucky" thing was kinda like when someone keeps calling their dog a ‘puppy’ after it’s grown into a two hundred pound wolf that may or may not be a little bit feral.

“Really,” Steve insisted.

“And what does fine look like, Steve?” Tony asked, leaning against the counter with his cereal, legs crossed at the ankles. “Pinochle? Quiet nights in front of the TV, cooking together?”

“Well, he is quiet,” Steve muttered.  He exhaled and ran his hands through his hair, looking more tired than the hour of the morning would imply. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”  Tony stirred his cereal for a moment, pushing down the flakes into the milk, wondering how much he should get involved.  “Look, Steve….have you considered that maybe, this is as good as he’s gonna get?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you seem to be waiting for something, for him to change back into someone you recognize.  But…” Tony shrugged and met Steve's gaze.  “I just don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“It hasn’t even been a year,” Steve said stiffly. “He’s already better than he was before.”

“True. I mean, he’s not running circles around the compound anymore, so that’s an improvement.”  Tony opened his mouth to continue, but after a moment he exhaled and shook his head slightly. “Good luck. I gotta get some work done.” 

 

Tony straightened and felt his back pop, stretching his neck with a sigh.  Having microprocessors that could handle terabytes of data was essential for his suit to function properly, but having to make them himself involved backbreaking amounts of time bent over his work desk that he was frankly getting too fucking old for.  When he saw Steve’s old buddy Mr. Murder Eyes sitting on his couch watching him, he jumped a little.  He had a vague memory of JARVIS announcing someone and him answering in the affirmative, but after no one said anything to him he had frankly forgotten about it. 

“Hey,” he said cleverly, for lack of anything else. 

“Hello, Stark,” Yasha answered after a beat.

“Oh God, no," Tony said, wrinkling his nose. "Call me Tony, please, I don’t need anyone else around here calling me Stark.”  Tony flexed his fingers, which were starting to cramp, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge under his table. “So, uh, did you need something?”

“No.”

“Oookay.” Tony took a long drink, not realizing how thirsty he was until the first swallow, and eyed the man on his couch.  “Just…keeping me company?”

Yasha blinked. “Yes?” He said finally. Agreement with others was usually the safest response in unfamiliar situations. Truth was, this was the only part of the whole compound that made him feel at home; he preferred the concrete and machines, the smell of grease and hot metal, to the soft, sterile rooms where he was supposed to sleep.  Plus, Rogers rarely came down here with his sad eyes and expectant silences.

Tony raised an eyebrow as if he could hear the equivocation in the soldier’s voice but didn’t challenge him on it. He rolled his shoulders a couple of times and picked up the soldering iron again.  In his fingers the soldering iron sparked and hissed, making a hot smell that stung Yasha’s nose. “Already bored with the range?”

“No.” He’d already used all of the weapons available and formed preferences, but now he was trying to measure the effective limit of both his own accuracy and the weapons.  The indoor range wasn’t long enough to measure his accuracy at a distance, but he’d discovered he could change the light levels and affect the auditory environment.  Changing these variables had kept him occupied for the past week.

Tony was quiet for another few minutes, then he put the soldering iron down and set the processor to the side.  “Well, since you’re just sitting here, would you look at something for me?”

“Yes.”  Yasha started to stand but Tony waved him back to his seat, grabbing a tablet and typing something on it as he crossed the lab.

“I got a contract to do security on a new government facility.  I’d probably get in trouble for showing you this, but I figure you’d be a good person to consult.  I already asked Natasha,” Tony said as he handed Yasha the tablet, and Yasha remembered Natasha Romanov codenamed _Black Widow_ aka Natalie Rushman aka too many other names to count.  “She said it looked good, but I wanted to see what you would say.”

Yasha grunted as he started scrolling through the building schematic and security proposal; his mind was already racing through possible infiltration plans, changing and discarding his ideas as he went through the document. “The doors,” he said, as Tony started to walk away. He frowned and scrolled back to the section that dealt with the door specs. “Reinforced doors, but not reinforced walls.”

Tony looked over his shoulder at the specs. “The walls are concrete with steel rebar,” he said in disbelief. 

Yasha snorted, unimpressed. “I could punch through it in minutes. Rogers, too, with the shield.”

“Ah. Right. I’ll make a note of that then. Thanks.”

Yasha looked up a while later and saw a notepad at his elbow and the lab was empty.  After a moment he grabbed the pen and started scrawling his notes.  When he was finished he gathered the tablet and the notepad and went in search of Sta - _Tony_ , eventually finding him in a living room on one of the upper floors.  He was relaxing on the couch, feet on the coffee table and a glass of what smelled like whiskey balanced on his chest as he scrolled through the channels on the television.

“I’m finished,” he said gruffly, setting the tablet and notepad on the coffee table.

“Yeah?” Tony said in surprised. “That was fast. Alright, have a seat, if you want. I was going to put on a cheesy horror movie before I go to bed.”

Yasha hesitated a moment before he sat down, dubious about the entertainment value of a horror movie.  But even he had to admit it was fun to watch people flailing and running and screaming and generally failing miserably to escape the murderer.  “That’s not how it works when you stab someone,” he muttered under his breath. “You should have confirmed the kill,” he said a little louder later in the movie, earning a laugh and an elbow to the side from Tony.

“Next time I’ll make popcorn for you to throw at the movie screen,” he said with a crooked grin.  “Glad you’re having fun.”

Yasha went still, realizing with surprise that he _was_ enjoying himself.  He’d done something useful for the first time in months and it had settled the restlessness he’d been feeling since he got here, settled it enough that he’d been on this couch for over an hour watching this ridiculous movie and hadn't felt the need to  _do_ something.   He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and forced himself to relax back into the couch, determined to keep enjoying himself. 

***

Yasha was at the range practicing with his eyes closed, trying to find the target through muscle memory alone when he heard the door to the range open.  He finished the clip and opened his eyes to see Tony at the door.

“Nice shooting,” he said, and Yasha acknowledged the complement with a curt nod, because his aim wasn’t perfect – he’d been trying to do a face, but the smile came out straight instead of curved. “Wanna go on a mission with me?” Tony continued as Yasha cleared the pistol and ejected the clip..  “Buncha stealthy destruction, seemed like your sort of thing.”

Yasha paused, blood pounding with excitement. “ _Yes,_ ” he said, setting the gun down. “When?”

“Fifteen hours.  It was supposed to be a War Machine mission, but my friend Rhodey is out with a stomach flu.  Department of Defense says I can do it as long as I don’t get caught; if I do, apparently they’ll throw me under the bus or something.” Tony shrugged as if being caught committing what was technically an international terrorist incident was no big deal. “I have a stealth suit so I’m not worried, and I figured I’d bring you because, you know, you’re _you_ , and because you seemed like you could use a break from this place.”

“The target?”

“Apparently the Syrians have been trying to enrich some uranium again, those naughty boys.” Tony looked at his watch. “You’ve got three hours to kill before we go, I recommend food and rest. Then we have an hour or so to gear up, and then the Air Force will give us a ride across the planet. Sound good? Here’s the mission if you need to plan your gear.” He handed Yasha a tablet with the mission briefing.

Yasha didn’t notice if Tony said anything after that; his mind was already in a desert on the other side of the planet.

 

Later, when he was rested, fed, and showered, Tony pulled on his flight suit and went in search of Yasha.  Instead, he found Steve, looking furious.

“You’re taking Bucky on a mission? How dare you.”

Tony bristled. Christ, that tone in Steve’s voice always rubbed Tony the wrong way. “Yeah, I am. What the hell is your problem with it?”

“He’s not ready!" Steve all but shouted, starting to pace.  "It’s only been what, six months since we rescued him and now you are taking him on a mission?” He stopped and gave Tony a suspicious look. “Was this Ross’s idea? He’s been trying to get his hands on Bucky-“

“No, it was my idea.  If you’d been paying attention, you’d know that he’s been cleared for active duty-”

“And that’s supposed to make this ok?”

Tony frowned. “Uh, yes? He can go, he wants to go, so why-”

“How do you know this is what he wants? Did he tell you he wanted to go on missions again? How do you know he’s not-”

“First of all, I _asked_. Second, he spends hours in the range every day, he is _bored out of his mind._ You’ve been on three missions already since he got here, and I think it’s time he gets a chance.”

Steve crossed his arms. “I think this is a bad idea.  So many things could go wrong.  And who knows how much this could set back Bucky’s recovery-”

“ _He’s not Bucky_ ,” Tony said, raising his voice. “He doesn’t even like being _called_ Bucky.  His name is _Yasha._ Maybe you should stop trying to make him into your old friend and start seeing him for who he is now.”

“Oh, are you an expert on him now? Based on what, a few months?  I’ve known him since we were children.”

Steve’s voice was getting low and angry, but Tony had never been one to back down from a fight.  He lifted his chin and said, “And? How about instead of holding on to something from your past so desperately that it’s killing you, you let it go and start appreciating what you have right now.”

“And what is that, exactly?” Steve bit out.  “What do I ‘have’ right now, if not Bucky?”

Tony stiffened, stung by Steve’s tone, and took a step back. “Well, if you don’t know, then I certainly can’t explain it to you. Meanwhile, try talking to _Yasha_ instead of _Bucky_ because in my opinion, Yasha is definitely someone worth knowing.”

“The only reason why Bucky wants you to call him Yasha is because he doesn’t remember-”

Behind them, a door slammed open with a loud bang, startling them both.  Yasha was staring at Steve with a cold fury, blue eyes icy.  “I remember plenty,” he said savagely.  “Just because my memories don’t involve you doesn’t mean they don’t _matter_.”  When it became clear that Steve was too stunned to respond, Yasha brushed by him to face Tony.  “I’m ready. Where’s the gear?”

“Follow me,” Tony said after a moment, with one last long look back at Steve before he led Yasha away.

 

A long plane ride later, the back of the aircraft finally opened, the temperature dropping in seconds as the wind whipped around them.  As Tony stepped into his suit, Yasha stood and reached for a parachute but Tony stopped him.  “Do you trust me?” Tony asked, raising his voice over the sound of the plane and the rushing air. Yasha studied him for a second and finally nodded.  Tony grinned broadly and tilted his head towards the open hatch of the plane.  “Then jump.  I’ll catch you.”

Yasha’s eyes widened, and then to Tony’s utter surprise, he grinned as well. “до скорого!” He said, still grinning like a maniac as he walked backwards towards the hatch.  He put on his ballistic goggles and mask, then he spread his arms and let himself fall out of the plane. Tony closed the face plate to the suit and jumped after him, his HUD automatically tracking Yasha’s heat signature as they fell.  Tony let gravity take him for a while, enjoying the rush, before he fired up his thrusters to catch up to Yasha.  For long minutes they fell together, watching the scattered lights on the ground grow closer, and then when they were a couple hundred feet from the ground Tony wrapped an arm around Yasha and changed their trajectory to come in over the Syrian compound under their radar, landing in the deserted shadow of a building with a soft thud.

“Are you good?” Tony said over their private intercom, and Yasha gave him a thumbs up. “Ok. Just like our plan, you clear the buildings and I’ll take care of the outside.”  He got another thumbs up, then a pair of knives appeared in his hand.  He twirled them twice and then disappeared into the darkness.

 

Less than an hour later, Tony was leaning against the door, waiting for Yasha to come back out.  “All clear?” he asked, and Yasha took off his mask and goggles.

“Yes. Found the uranium.”

“And?”

Yasha shrugged. “They were still years away from anything useful.”

“But you got the proof?”  Yasha held up a digital camera, which had probably already uploaded its contents to a secure military intelligence server.  “Alright, time to burn the place.”

Yasha dug around in his pockets and held up a brick of C4. “May I?”

“Aww, I kinda wanted to do it.” Tony looked around and then said, “Ok, you do that side, and I’ll do this side, and we’ll see whose explosion is bigger.”

Yasha gave him a skeptical look. “You only get two missiles.”

A smile tugged at Tony’s lips. “Five.”

“Three.”

“Deal.”

 

“You know, I bet Steve wouldn’t approve of this,” Tony commented as they watched the compound burn.  Tony’s side had gone up quickly, but Yasha had daisy chained his explosives like a diva, _boom boom boom_ , as well timed as a fireworks display.

“No,” Yasha agreed, sighing happily, rocking on his heels as he watched the compound burn.

After a while, as the flames died down and the sound of emergency vehicles finally started to fill the air, Tony put his arm around Yasha and flew them to the exfil point on the Jordanian border.  As the plane droned back to the States, he cleared his throat and said, “Look, Yasha…I know it may not really be any of my business, but go easy on Steve, ok? I think he…” Tony scratched his jaw, feeling self-conscious under Yasha’s unwavering gaze.  “I think he got his hopes up, you know, when he found you again, and he’s not dealing well with…things not turning out as he expected.”

Yasha was silent for about a hundred miles then he said, “If he’ll stop calling me Bucky, I’ll stop avoiding him.”

“Have you told him you don’t like being called Bucky?” Yasha made a face like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard and Tony rolled his eyes. “You need to talk to him, you know. I can’t be the go-between forever.”

Yasha shrugged. “ _I_ don’t care if his feelings get hurt.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to make a “stop being stupid” face. “One, I think you do care, or it wouldn’t bother you so much. Two, Steve is technically the leader of the Avengers, so if you want to start going on more missions, you will need his approval.  This,” Tony said, waving a hand around the back of the C-130, “was a special occasion because it was technically _my_ mission so I got to decide who went, but these don’t happen very often.”

When Yasha just grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, Tony leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, and they were quiet for the rest of the trip.


	3. Chapter 3

Yasha watched Tony as he replaced some of the wiring in his arm, admiring how deft Tony’s touch was. He didn’t have much sensation  _inside_  the arm, so it’s not like it ever hurt when someone tinkered with the insides, but he’d seen enough technicians come and go to appreciate that Tony was talented.

“Have you ever thought about adding a neural interface for your suit?” Yasha asked idly when Tony leaned over to reach for a different tool.

“You mean making a port or directly wiring it into my brain?” Tony made a face.  "No, thank you."

“It’s not so bad,” Yasha said dryly. “You get used to it.”

Tony snorted. “Well, I just got rid of the arc reactor so I’m good on having bits of machinery embedded into me for a while.”

Yasha grunted and fell quiet so Tony could concentrate. Bit by bit over the past few weeks Tony had upgraded, replaced, and improved pieces of his arm, until Yasha could tell that it was working better than it ever had before. The weird glitch that periodically caused a spark of pain in the back of his head was gone, the gears didn’t grind anymore, and he had patiently cleaned decades of grime from the grooves and creases of the tiny interlocking plates of his hand and fingers. When Tony had seen Yasha surreptitiously trying to knead the tension out of his shoulder and neck, he’d give him a special cushion to rest his arm on when lying down so the weight of it wouldn’t pull on his muscles.  Yasha didn’t understand how he noticed, much less why he cared, but it hadn’t taken him long to get addicted.

“Hold on a second, I need to get a fuse for this,” Tony said, standing to cross the room. As he came around the chair Yasha was sitting in he patted his shoulder, squeezing gently for a second before letting go.  Yasha had stiffened at the touch, out of surprise more than anything else, but Tony immediately apologized.

“No, it’s fine,” Yasha said, trying to smile even though his nerves were rioting.  It really was fine, more than fine – Yasha could still feel the phantom heat of his touch and it made him want more. “Really,” he insisted, trying to make Tony understand.

“Ok, ok, good,” Tony said soothingly, but he didn’t reach out again.  For the rest of the session, Yasha was afraid that he’d ruined it, but at the end Tony patted his knee when he was done, just before he packed up his tools.  Yasha let out a deep breath, relieved, and wondered how to reciprocate because that’s how you get more, right? They do it, you do it back, then they do it again? Unfortunately, he spent too much time thinking about it and before he could come to a decision Tony was already off to the next thing.  Yasha watched him puttering around the lab, talking to JARVIS and pulling up what looked like a holographic schematic of Yasha’s arm, and tried to come up with a plan to get Tony to touch him again. 

He didn’t know if he could just…casually touch someone with the same ease that others did, especially Tony.  He’d watched them as if studying how people interacted would make it easier for him – a hand on the back when passing by someone, bodies brushing when lounging on the couch, affectionate pats on various body parts.  If he wasn’t reaching out in violence, he didn’t reach out. But now, one simple touch from Tony made him hungry for more.

As he pondered that, he pulled out a small switchblade and turned it over in his hands, checking for rust, making sure it opened and closed easily.  He pressed his thumb against the edge to the point of pain, suddenly frustrated with himself and his thoughts.

“You ok there, Yasha?” Tony asked from across the lab, head tilted as he looked at Yasha curiously.

“I’m fine,” Yasha said curtly, putting the knife away and striding out of the lab.

***

Yasha had been staring at the rain for an hour, trying to decide if he felt like running through the mud and cold, when Tony stuck his head out the door.

“What are you doing?”  Tony asked curiously. Yasha just shrugged, not really interested in talking about it, and out of the corner of his eye saw Tony nod wisely.  “Well, you’re doing it wrong.”

That made Yasha glance over with a frown but Tony was already gone.  Approximately seven minutes later he returned, shoving the door open with a foot with a steaming cup in each hand a blanket thrown over one shoulder, so big it was almost dragging the ground.

Baffled, Yasha automatically took the cup Tony handed him and moved over while Tony sat down next to him and threw the blanket over their shoulders.  Yasha’s shoulders relaxed at the warm weight of it; he hadn’t even known he was cold until he suddenly wasn’t.  But as Tony fidgeted, trying to get comfortable without spilling his drink, every nerve in Yasha became a live wire, awake and aware of Tony’s proximity, making his heart pound.  He automatically took a sip from what Tony had handed him, trying to cover for his confusion and riotous reaction to Tony’s presence, and almost spat it out when pure sugar hit his tongue. “What’s this?” He said with disgust.

“Hot chocolate with marshmallows for you and coffee for me.”  Tony smiled as Yasha looked down at the mug in his hands, the light brown liquid and tiny marshmallows bobbing in it.  Yasha made a face and switched mugs, grateful when the taste of coffee washed away the too-sweet taste of the hot chocolate.  Tony looked at his lost cup of coffee and then back down at the chocolate. “You know, I guess I should have expected that.” He set the cup down beside the chair and wrapped the blanket tighter around him, looking out across the soggy landscape as if trying to figure out what Yasha was looking at.

Yasha sipped the coffee, grateful for the way it warmed him from the inside out, and waited for Tony to say something.  But to his surprise, Tony seemed satisfied to stay quiet and listen to the rain, so after a couple of swallows he handed the coffee back as a small apology for stealing it in the first place.  Tony took it with a murmured thanks, eyes far away. Yasha studied Tony’s profile for a moment, the strong line of his jaw, the small lines at the corner of his eyes, the curl of hair at the nape of his neck and it suddenly felt like the first time he’d ever seen him.  For a moment the rest of the world seemed to fall away and Tony came into hyperfocus, like he was seeing him through a rifle scope. Yasha felt like he’d been punched in the solar plexus.

Yasha had no idea how long he’d been staring when Tony finally noticed and turned his head.  He saw the question come to Tony’s eyes but before he could say anything, Yasha pressed his mouth to Tony’s. He heard Tony’s sharp inhale and registered the soft pressure and faint taste of coffee on Tony’s lips before he pulled away. He watched Tony warily as his eyebrows went up in surprise and he licked his lips, wondering if he’d gone too far, but after a moment Tony huffed out a soft laugh and set his coffee down. Then he turned his body to face Yasha and tilted his chin up as if daring Yasha to do it again, lips quirked in a crooked grin.

So Yasha moved closer, curling his metal hand around the back of Tony’s neck as he slotted their mouths together again, eyes drifting closed. Tony made a soft noise in his chest when Yasha ran his tongue along his lush lower lip, and Yasha wanted to hear more of those noises more than he wanted anything in his life ever.  He pressed closer, groaning when Tony’s mouth opened hungrily under his own. Every one of his senses were zeroed in on this kiss, the smell of Tony’s cologne in his lungs and the honeyed heat of his body. He dipped his tongue into Tony’s mouth, seeking the taste of him under the coffee, and Tony made another one of those noises, sending a prickling wave of heat under Yasha’s skin.  Tony scraped his teeth over Yasha’s lip, biting lightly, and then his mouth was gone, pressing kisses to Yasha’s cheek, the corner of his eyes, his temple.

Yasha didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out in a rush, feeling a sweet ache under his sternum. He turned his head to capture Tony’s mouth one more time, then rested his forehead against Tony’s, breathing with him until his heart had stopped racing. After a few moments, Tony pulled back and Yasha opened his eyes to see a warmth in his gaze that was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Maybe what he was feeling showed on his face, because instead of saying anything, Tony just pressed a kiss to Yasha’s palm and picked up his coffee again.  He turned back to watch the rain, this time leaning against Yasha’s shoulder.

***

"That wasn't your call to make!" Yasha heard Rogers shout; frowning, he followed the sound of voices until he found Rogers and Tony standing practically toe to toe, still geared up from the mission as they yelled at each other.

"It was the only one  _to_ make!" Tony shouted back.  "You didn't see what I saw, Steve.  That building was minutes away from collapsing."

"People were injured, Tony. Your teammates got hurt because you weren't sharing information!"

"Are you talking about Clint's shoulder? He hurt that doing a cartwheel onto the quinjet!" 

At that Rogers made a wordless sound of disbelief and frustration and walked away.  Tony's gauntleted hands tightened around his helmet, looking like he wanted to throw it at Steve's back, but eventually he just stalked away as well, headed down the hall towards his lab.  Yasha hesitated for a moment before following, sliding through the door to the lab before it could close after Tony.  The suit was retracting from Tony's body, folding up neatly as Tony headed straight for the whiskey in the bottom drawer of the desk.  Yasha approached warily, unsure of his welcome, and Tony must have seen the movement out of the corner of his eye because he glanced up to give him a ghost of a smile.

"Hey, Yasha.  I'm going to guess that you heard that?" Tony said, sounding tired and defeated. He took a healthy swallow of the whiskey.  "Sorry. I know it's hard when Mommy and Daddy fight."

Yasha didn’t know what to say to that so he just edged closer, hoping to offer Tony some sort of comfort in his presence.  To his surprise, once he was close enough Tony turned and rested his head on Yasha’s shoulder with a sigh.  After a while, Yasha’s hands came up to rest on Tony’s hips in a loose embrace and at the touch Tony sagged against him. “I don't like the way he talks to you," Yasha said, resting his cheek lightly against Tony’s scalp.

Tony made a half-hearted gesture of dismissal. “It’s just a fight,” he said into Yasha’s chest. “Give him a few hours and we’ll be fine.”

“Not just today.” Now that he was spending more time in the common areas instead of keeping to himself, he’d increasingly seen and heard Rogers and Tony fighting, over just about anything.  "He’s disrespectful. Always critical.” Yasha paused as he thought.  “The man I remember could take a joke,” Yasha said eventually.  “Admit that he was wrong. Now he’s…brittle." 

Tony was silent for a while. "Steve's best, and worst, trait is that he often sees things the way he thinks they should be, not always the way they are.  It makes people want to be better, to do better, so they don't let him down.  But on the flip side..."

"It can make him a judgmental asshole," Yasha finished, and felt Tony’s shoulders shake with amusement.

"Yeah, I guess that's one way to say it." Tony was quiet again before he said, “Steve has high expectations of his team, which is good.  It’s better that than the opposite."

Yasha grunted, remembering how his handlers had treated him after a failed mission compared to a successful mission.  How grateful he'd been for the slightest praise and reward. "If his opinion of you depends on how well you conform to his standards," Yasha said slowly, trying to find the right words to fit the realization forming in his head, "then maybe it’s not worth it."  Tony was silent again after that, but it was a thoughtful silence, and eventually his hands came up to fist in Yasha's shirt, pulling him closer.


	4. Chapter 4

Yasha stared at himself in the mirror, frowning slightly as he studied his own eyes, the curve of his cheek bones, his jaw. He had Bucky Barnes’ face, no point in arguing that; the resemblance was stronger now that he had shaved and raked his hair back from his face.  He vaguely wished there was something he could do about that; he could make a new name and a new life but not a new face, so it felt like he was always going to be carrying the baggage of a man he barely remembered.

But enough was enough, he thought as he turned away from the mirror.  He was done pretending that everything was fine, done hiding. Hiding his face, hiding from Rogers, hiding from the world. He found Rogers in gym working over the punching bag.  He glanced up and when he saw Yasha he put his hand on the bag, stopping its sway. “Hey, Buck. What’s up?”

Irritation made him forget his carefully prepared speech. “My name is Yasha, not Bucky,” he gritted out.

Rogers clenched his jaw and he started unwrapping the tape on his hands. “Why? Why a new name?”  He said after a while.

Yasha felt his shoulders getting tight and he forced them to relax. “Because I’m not that guy. Bucky. I haven’t been that guy for  _decades,”_ he said, failing to keep the edge out of his voice.

Rogers exhaled long and low, balling up his tape and still refusing to look at Yasha. “But-“

“I’m not going to start being him now just because you want me to,” Yasha said baldly.  "Get over it." 

Rogers clenched and unclenched his hands like he still wanted to punch something, but he finally nodded. He cleared his throat and said, “Ok. Yasha it is.”

“Second, I want to go on more missions.  If not, I’m leaving.”

At that, Rogers looked up, eyes hard. “We’re having ultimatums now?”

“You know I’m ready.  The fact that I haven’t been out on a mission is about you, not me,” Yasha growled, jabbing a finger in Rogers’ direction. “If I’m not here to help, then why am I here?”

Rogers crossed his arms over his chest.  “And what if we run into Hydra on a mission? Are you ready for that?”

“Goddamn right I am.”

Rogers leaned forward. “And how do I know we can trust you?  _Yasha?_ ”

Yasha leaned in as well, staring Rogers right in the eye.  “I worked for Hydra because I was being brainwashed. What’s  _your_  excuse?”

At his words, Rogers went red, then pale.  After a moment, Yasha stalked away, but before he went out the door Rogers said, "Wait."  When Yasha turned around, he was staring at his feet. "You're right, that wasn't fair.  I'm sorry."

The way he said it implied that he was sorry for more than just the Hydra dig, like he was sorry for everything, so Yasha nodded once, accepting the apology. "Ok." As he opened the door, he said over his shoulder, “Also, I plan to make time with Tony, so you’ve been warned.” Then he closed the door with satisfaction on Rogers’ startled  _“What?!”_

***

Tony sat in the drivers seat of Howard's old hot rod, running his hands over the smooth leather of the steering wheel, thoughts far away.  "What the hell are you doing, Tony?" he muttered to himself, remembering the feel of Yasha's mouth on his own.  When James/Bucky/Yasha first came to the compound, Tony was plenty angry about it, angry about his presence, his very  _existence,_ but then Yasha had come walking out of the Quinjet looking like a kicked dog, wary and defensive, and all of his anger had drained away.  Then he watched as Yasha had started slowly going mad with boredom and somehow Steve didn't see it, despite the fact that according to Fury Steve had done the very same thing, wandering endlessly around New York after he'd first woken up from the ice.  Then Steve and Tony had new things to argue about, everything from letting Yasha have a gun to letting him leave the compound. 

And  _now._   Tony could only imagine what Steve would have to say about Tony kissing his former bestie.  Or about the fact that Tony hoped there'd be a chance to do it again and a lot more besides.

Blowing out a long breath, Tony closed his eyes and leaned the seat back, interlacing his fingers over his chest.  After a few minutes he heard the door to the lab opening, and the fact that no one said anything told him who it was.  At first, Yasha's watchful silence made Tony restless, but now it was...relaxing.  Yasha had no expectations so it was easy to just be. 

He listened as Yasha opened up the car door and climbed in, then heard the sound of the other car seat lying back. “I had that conversation with Rogers,” Yasha said after a moment. "That you recommended."

“Yeah? And how did that go?” Tony asked without opening his eyes.

“Poorly.”  When Tony made a questioning noise, Yasha said, “He accused me of being a Hydra sympathizer, so I did the same.”

“Wow.” Tony opened his eyes in surprise, turning his head to look at Yasha. “I didn’t think anyone could piss Steve off faster than me, but I think you win. I’m almost jealous.” 

"He also apologized. For being an asshole."

"Really?" Tony said in astonishment. "Like a real apology and not a half-assed one?" 

"It was a little half-assed," Yasha admitted after a moment of thought, smiling a little at the sound of Tony's amused snort. “I also told him we were going to bone.”

Tony barked out a surprised laugh. “Oh you did, did you?” He fluttered his eyelashes at Yasha, doing his best impression of coy.  “But you haven’t even asked me out on a date.”

“No?" Yasha reached over and ran his thumb over Tony's lower lip, tracing the curve of his smile.  "Well then what say we blow this popsicle stand?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly pure smut.

Tony bit Yasha's thumb lightly, heart skipping a beat as Yasha's eyes went dark. “You had me at blow," he said, voice a little rough.  Then he put the seat up and started to climb out of the car.  "Follow me, I know just the place." 

 

“ _Miniature golf_?” Yasha said incredulously forty-five minutes later, staring up at the garishly decorated "adventure park."

“Yep,” Tony said as he pulled into a parking space and put up the parking brake. “I wanna see if your sniper skills translate to putt putt.”

The answer was yes, they did, as did Tony's multiple degrees in physics and math. The evening ended in a tie when Tony wouldn’t give Yasha a Mulligan when the windmill on hole 9 jammed on his turn, so Yasha didn’t give Tony one when a six-year-old ran across the putting green and accidentally kicked Tony’s ball away from the hole.  “Adapt and overcome,” was all Yasha said, with a sly smile that made Tony’s heart turn over in his chest.  So of course he had to lean over and kissed the corner of that smile. Yasha looked surprised, then pleased, then smug. 

Later on that night they ended up on the roof of the compound where they could just barely see the lights of New York on the horizon, sitting on the edge and kicking their heels against the side of the building.  Yasha was satisfied because Tony was tucked up against his side, Yasha's arm over his shoulders, apparently content to lean into Yasha's warmth in the chill of the night. 

"You know, I think common dating rule of thumb says to wait for the third date before you start getting intimate with someone," Tony said out of nowhere, breaking the comfortable silence between them. He held up a hand and started counting on his fingers.  "Blowing up a Syrian base, coffee date in the rain, putt putt golf.  Well how about that," he said, turning to Yasha with mock surprise. "This is our third date." 

Despite the smile that was tugging on his lips, Yasha forced himself to frown. "You said I'd never asked you out on a date."

"You didn't. The other dates were all me," Tony said archly. "Now, do you need an engraved invitation into my pants, or-" Tony made an undignified noise as Yasha threw him over his shoulder and headed back inside.  Yasha almost missed a step on the stairs when Tony took advantage of his position to slide his hands into the back pockets of Yasha's pants and squeeze his ass. 

"Behave," Yasha rumbled, swatting Tony on the rear before throwing open the door to Tony's suite.  “Or I’ll drop you.”

"What kind of internationally feared assassin are you, to get distracted on a mission?" Tony tsked.  "You must be out of practice."

Yasha set him down on the carpet and gave him a smile that made Tony's toes curl and heart start to pound.  "I promise you," he said, voice deep and eyes hot, curling his fingers into the waistband of Tony's pants to pull him closer and dipping his head down so that his breath was a teasing heat against Tony's lips, "that I am  _not_ out of practice."

“Then maybe you’re just not good at asking for what you want,” Tony challenged, holding Yasha’s hooded gaze as his hands unfastened his belt, not bothering to pull it through the loops before he went for the button on Yasha’s pants.  Yasha’s erection was already a mouthwatering heat and hardness behind his zipper. “So.  What do you want, Yasha?”

“Your hands on me,” Yasha rumbled, _finally_ kissing him, hungry and deep. One of his hands came down to cover Tony’s where it had palmed his hardness and he thrust a little into Tony’s grip.  Tony squeezed and Yasha made a noise deep in his chest. “My hands on you,” he murmured against Tony’s mouth, his metal hand sliding under Tony’s shirt to span his back, cool and heavy.  Tony shivered a little as the small ridges in the metal made sparks under his skin. “My mouth on you.”  He trailed his lips along Tony’s jaw to his neck, biting lightly and then soothing the sting with the hot press of his tongue.

“Ok, yeah,” Tony said cleverly, most of his thoughts burned away by Yasha’s mouth and the hardness against his palm, the way Yasha was still grinding against his hand.  “All good things. Let’s-” Tony inhaled sharply when Yasha’s hand trailed around his side and a cool metal thumb brushed over his nipple.  “Let’s do that. Those things.”

Tony had to give up his grip on Yasha’s cock as his shirt was pulled over his head and his pants shoved down for him to step out of.  Tony tried to reciprocate but Yasha took his hands and pressed a kiss to each palm before nudging him towards the bed.  “You’ve been taking care of me for months now,” he said as he pulled his clothes off.  Tony’s hands itched as he watched acres of skin and muscle being revealed in front of him and he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.  He didn’t know where to look first, the broad shoulders that he had only seen under slightly too tight shirts, the heat in Yasha’s eyes and the promising curve of his lips…or the movement of Yasha’s metal hand on his thick cock, stroking lightly like something out of Tony’s favorite fantasy.  “Now I’m going to take care of you,” Yasha continued, stepping between Tony’s knees and tilting his chin up.  Tony shuddered at the look of promise in Yasha’s eyes, blown black with arousal.

Yasha urged him up onto the bed and crawled over him as he lay down. As Yasha pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck and chest, Tony ran his fingers through his hair, tugging it free of the loose bun it had been in.  He gathered the silky strands in his hands as Yasha’s mouth moved down his body and his hands spread Tony’s thighs, making room for his shoulders between them.  Yasha licked a wide, teasing stripe at the crease of Tony’s thigh and groin, biting at the tendon there before moving to the other side, apparently trying to drive Tony out of his mind.  He was already aching, digging his heels into the mattress as he tried to get Yasha’s mouth where he needed it most.

“ _Please,_ ” he finally said, and Yasha smiled victoriously before he swallowed Tony down all the way, and _holy hell_ , Yasha was right, he wasn’t out of practice _at all_.  “Christ,” Tony bit out, lungs heaving at the hot, tight pressure of Yasha’s mouth and tongue against his cock.  Yasha’s metal hand held Tony’s hips down when he wanted to buck into that heat, and Tony moaned at the casual strength pinning him to the bed.  His fingers tightened against Yasha’s scalp before he made himself let go, and then he fumbled for the lube in the nightstand.  “Please,” he said again, pushing the lube into Yasha’s hand.  “I want to feel all of you.”  Then he was falling back against the pillows as Yasha hummed thoughtfully around his cock.  He hitched Tony’s legs over his shoulders and then there was slick, slightly cool pressure against his hole.

 _Jesus,_ it was Yasha’s thumb, his _metal_ thumb, and Tony had the mental image of the silver metal breaching him, thrusting in and out of his body, and with a gasp he had to pull Yasha’s head up because he was too close to coming.  “Not good?” Yasha asked roughly, all movement stilling, and Tony shook his head.

“Too good,” he said, having to look at the ceiling for a moment because Yasha’s mouth was red and hovering right over his cock, dark hair framing his face, and the sight wasn’t doing much to help Tony calm down.  “I need to,” Tony gestured expressively, and Yasha rumbled a short laugh.

“Turn over,” he said, and to Tony’s dismay his finger withdrew, but Tony did as he asked.  Then he was covering Tony with his body like a blanket, that strength and heat covering and surrounding him. Tony groaned because like this Yasha’s cock was pressed right against his ass. “What do you want?” Yasha murmured into his ear, pressing a kiss to his neck.

“Oh, God,” Tony said, thoughts spinning at the possibilities.  Yasha fingering him open and making him ready for that thick cock that he was currently grinding lazily against him. Yasha spooning him and stroking him while he thrust himself between Tony’s slicked up thighs.   Curling his hands into Tony's hair while he fed him his cock. “Uh,” he swallowed thickly. “I can’t decide,” he confessed, pressing his hips back against Yasha, and Yasha chuckled.

“Then tell me if I do something you don’t like,” he said. That delicious heat and weight moved away and Yasha propped Tony’s hips up.  Then Tony let out a strangled, hitching moan as Yasha’s talented tongue swiped from his taint to his tailbone. “I love the sounds you make,” Yasha growled, doing it again, hands spreading Tony’s cheeks.  He blew lightly on Tony’s hole before diving back in.

Tony let his head fall to the sheets, sobbing for air. As Tony’s cock leaked a steady stream of pre-come, Yasha licked and sucked at his hole for what felt like hours., then his mouth withdrew to bite the cheek of Tony’s ass and thrust a slicked up finger inside his relaxed hole. His body gave so easily that Tony felt another wave of heat crawl down his spine, and he must have made some sort of noise because then Yasha was thrusting in two.  “Fuck-!” he bit out, and then suddenly he was on his back again, two fingers still curling inside him while a wet, tight heat enveloped his cock. This time Tony was helpless against it, coming with a shout, fingers fisting in the sheets.  It seemed to go on forever, the orgasm spilling from his hair to his toes and back again.  “Holy shit,” he gasped, tapping out on Yasha’s arm when he got too sensitive. With one last lick Yasha sat up, gently withdrawing his fingers from Tony’s body and wiping them on the sheets. “C’mere,” Tony gestured, tugging Yasha down so he could wrap his arms around him while he came down, heart still pounding wildly as aftershocks thrilled through his body.

“Taking care of me, huh?” Tony murmured, feeling high.  He reached between them and circled Yasha’s cock with his fingers, stroking lightly, smearing the wetness from the tip down the shaft so he could squeeze a little harder, tug a little faster. Yasha grunted, thrusting into his grip, burying his face into Tony’s shoulder. “You keep that up and next time you’ll give me a heart attack.”  Tony buried the fingers of his other hand into Yasha’s hair, tugging while he pressed his lips to Yasha’s temple.

“I like your hands,” Yasha muttered, voice low and guttural as he moved against Tony.  “I like feeling them touch me.” He propped himself up on his elbows so he could rest his forehead against Tony’s. 

“My hands?” Tony’s mouth curled into a smile as he looked into Yasha’s eyes, feeling a little giddy to be the focus of so much intensity.  "Next time, I'll take care of  _you_ , but for now, why don't you come all over me and my hands?  I wanna hear you."

With an almost pained noise deep in his chest, Yasha leaned his weight on his metal arm and covered Tony's hand with his own.  Tony watched, memorizing how Yasha liked to be touched, the sounds he made when he was close, the way his cock got darker and harder and more slippery right before he came with groan, spilling over their joined hands.  Yasha's panting breath gusted over Tony's cheek while he shuddered and twitched through his orgasm, then with his free hand Tony turned Yasha's face towards his for a kiss.  This one was long and lazy, mouths sliding past each other, and Tony hummed when he tasted himself on Yasha's tongue.  When the mess on their hands got sufficiently cold and gross, Tony grabbed the top sheet to clean them off then balled it up and tossed it to the corner of the room.  Yasha grabbed the covers and pulled them up, tucking Tony against his side as they got comfortable against the pillows. 

"Next week I need to test a new missile system in my suit," Tony said, fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of Yasha's hand.  "Wanna come? I have an outdoor range in Arizona.  You can bring some sniper rifles," he added, as if Yasha needed more incentive to go.

"Of course," Yasha said. "It's a date."


End file.
